


Rain will Make the Flowers Grow

by shesasurvivor (starkist)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:19:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkist/pseuds/shesasurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a far cry from how we both were mere months ago, broken shadows of our former selves. At one point, I believed any hope of being with him had truly died out. But now we’re here, together. And this is happening. I could cry if I weren’t so caught up in the heat of the moment. Various insights to the life Katniss and Peeta build together post-Mockingjay. Written for madefrommemories for the Everlark Secret Santa Gift Exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain will Make the Flowers Grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wincechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/gifts).



> Happy holidays to my Secret Santa recipient, madefrommemories! I hope you enjoy this. :)

I feel that thing again. That hunger that overtook me on the beach. As Peeta’s lips melt with mine, I reach my hand up and bury it in his curls. The other hand pulls him closer; as close as I can possibly get to him.

On some level, I’m vaguely aware that I know what’s happening. But I’m not thinking about it. For once, the instincts fully take command and all I know is how much I want this, how badly I need to become one with Peeta. To do something that proves we can never be broken apart from each other again.

I want to hold onto him and never let him go.

It’s a far cry from how we both were mere months ago, broken shadows of our former selves. At one point, I believed any hope of being with him had truly died out. But now we’re here, together. And this is happening. I could cry if I weren’t so caught up in the heat of the moment.

Peeta’s arms ghost down my body, and gently tug my shirt over my head. I’m shy under his gaze, feeling the need to block the numerous patches that make up my skin from view. But then he removes his own shirt, and we are a matched set. There is nothing more to hide from each other at this point.

Bit by bit, we remove the remaining pieces of clothes between kisses and caresses. Peeta mutters my name against my skin in near disbelief. His mouth moves to my chest, and I gasp when he takes one of my breasts in his mouth. But the sensation makes me feel good in ways I never thought was imaginable. And it’s the same with every other place on my body he touches.

At last, we get to the act itself. After awkwardly pulling out a package that he explains Effie forced him to take back on the train, what now seems a lifetime ago at this point, he rolls the condom on and carefully pushes into me.

It hurts, I won’t lie. It’s awkward and painful, and neither of us know what we’re doing as we bump into each other. But after some nervous laughter, we manage to pick up a rhythm, kissing and holding each other close as we do. It’s okay, we both understand. For the first time, we know we have all the time in the world to get better. To learn how to do this whole thing right.

It doesn’t last long. Peeta comes into the condom with a groan; I don’t come at all. In fact, I’m in pain, but it really doesn’t matter at this point. The pain is nothing compared to the things I’ve been through. In fact, I'll gladly bear it considering everything it signifies. So after, when he’s pulled off the condom, thrown it in the trash and gathered me in his arms, trembling all the while, and whispers, “you love me. Real or not real?”

I tell him, “Real.”

 

“I love you so much,” Peeta mutters against my skin as his lips trail downwards. I shiver in anticipation the further south they go. I’m on my back with my elbows propping me up so I can watch. When I feel his lips reach my folds, his tongue snaking between them and slowly begins to tease my clitirous with wet laps, I throw my head back, my breathing labored.

“I love you, too,” I just barely manage to get out. I’m rewarded with Peeta picking up his pace, then replacing his tongue with his fingers as he moves to lick my walls. My back arches as I let out a loud groan. Peeta continues his motions until I’m practically screaming, my body tensing up before it explodes in release. Peeta is peeking up at me from his spot between my legs as I come back down to earth.

“I love doing that,” he grins at me.

“I know,” I say, “now roll over.”

Peeta only raises an eyebrow as he grins mischievously at me, all the while complying. I position myself, and take his cock into my mouth, sucking only the tip at first. I hear him let out a pleading whimper, which only picks up as the moments tick by. At least, I put him out of his misery, and dip my head downwards, taking him into my mouth in his entirety. Peeta groans in relief, his breathing growing more and more labor as I bob my head up and down, sucking and licking on the length of his shaft. I feel his body begin to shake and tense, and that’s when I know it’s time to stop.

He lets out a disappointed noise, but from the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he knows what’s going to happen next. I move up his body, take him in my hand as I position himself at my entrance, and sink down onto him.

It’s been two years, and the feeling of his thick cock filling me up still feels amazing. I begin my pattern, alternating between up and down and grinding myself in circular motions on him. I can’t believe there was a time when I wasn’t going to allow myself to experience this. I never thought of myself as a sexual creature until it happened, but once it did, I knew I could never deny myself again.

Peeta has begun kneading my breasts with his skillful hands, so careful and tuned with the precision only a baker and artist could have. Our movements are so much more in line with each other than they were that first time. Our stamina has improved greatly. And after much deliberation, I agreed to go on a form of oral contraceptive provided by the new government that had replaced the Capitol. It made me nervous at first, but the first time I felt Peeta inside me, without the plastic of a condom separating us, I knew I had made the right choice.

I scream as I come, clamping down on him inside me, and feel him as he explodes himself. There was something so raw and exhilarating about it the first time I felt him do this.

“I never get tired of this,” he smiles afterwards, holding me close like he always does. I smile back and agree, and he seals it with a kiss.

 

  
“Katniss Mellark,” Peeta breathes as he draws me close to him in our darkened room. “After all this time, it’s finally happened. Katniss Mellark.”

“Are you going to call me that for the rest of the night?” I smile.

“Maybe I will, Katniss Mellark. I may call you that for the rest of our lives. Can you blame me?”

“No,” I grin as I lean in to kiss him. As I lean in to kiss my husband, I think, and can’t stop the feeling of happiness that washes over me. It took him five years to talk me into it, but I finally agreed to marry. And not just a toasting, either, but the full deal with a marriage certificate and everything.

It took us awhile to even decide on that, of course. At first, I just wanted to do a toasting, with only the two of us present. Peeta agreed. But then we began feeling guilty. Haymitch, at least, should have been there, and then we realized my mother should, too. And since we were inviting guests, why not include Johanna, Annie and her son? And, all right, maybe we should invite Effie, too. Before we knew it, we were applying for a license in the newly rebuilt Justice Building, and cleaning out the bedrooms on the second floor of Peeta’s former house whose first floor now held the bakery.

It was a small ceremony. Our group gathered first at the Justice Building as we signed the paper to light applause and sarcastic comments from Haymitch and Johanna. We then moved back to my house - our house, really, as it was about to become officially. Unofficially, we had been living here together for all but the first several months after we returned from the Capitol. Peeta had baked the bread himself, of course; the same hearty recipe of berries and nuts that he had thrown me all those years ago, the first time he ever saved my life. As we thrust the loaf into the fire together, our hands clasped around each other as we held the bread, it occurred to me how appropriate it was for the traditional ceremony of our district to involve the two things that seemed to have come to symbolize us most.

When we turned to feed each other our respective pieces, it was Peeta’s eyes I expected to be glistening with tears. Instead, though, I found it was myself who had to fight back that choking sound I make when I’m about to cry. I felt vulnerable and awkward, but from the look he gave me as he realized my reaction, I don’t think I could have given Peeta a more perfect gift on our wedding day. As he brought my piece of bread up to my lips, I caught him mouthing a word silently, so that no one else could hear it. Maybe he didn’t even mean to say it out loud.

_Always._

We stood when finished, me straightening out the green dress I wore, while our small reception congratulated us, or muttered under breath that it was about time in Haymitch’s case. Then the remainder of the bread was passed around the group while Peeta and I watched, hands clasped tightly, a radiant smile plastered across his face. And, I realized, across mine as well.

After tearful congratulations and several knowing looks, we were at last left alone. Hand in hand, Peeta and I climbed the stairs to our room, where we find ourselves now. “Katniss Mellark,” Peeta breathes again against my neck that he’s now dropping kisses on with growing intensity. He continues the mantra as he goes, though the last part eventually drops off along with our clothing. It’s only my first name he shouts when I make him come that night.

 

  
“Peeta.” My voice is urgent as my hands drop to my growing stomach, clasping onto it tightly. Peeta doesn’t respond, so I repeat myself, my voice louder and I move one hand so that I’m shaking him awake.

He lets out an indignant grunt. “What is it?” he asks sleepily as he rolls over to face me, sleep still evident in his eyes. When he sees my expression, however, they widen as he sits up suddenly, looking me over in concern.

“What’s happened? Is something wrong?”

I can’t answer. Instead, my hand moves back to my stomach, right where it happened, I can only stare as I hope he’ll be able to understand what I’m saying.

He doesn’t.

“What is it, Katniss?” he pleads with me. From his tone alone, I can tell panic is going to set in at any moment. He hasn’t had an episode in months - they don’t happen anywhere near as often as they used to, but they do still occasionally occur. As terrified as I am, I’m more terrified of setting him off. I’m able to bring him back every time, but every time I’m afraid will be the time when I won’t be able to. And right now, I need Peeta more than I ever could have before.

“I felt it move,” I admit, my voice small.

Peeta sinks back down, his face first etched in disbelief before he begins to laugh. “Is that all?” he asks. I nod.

“That’s great!”

I don’t answer, instead looking back down to where I know the baby is growing inside me. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted it so badly. It took me awhile to get there, but eventually I had to admit that I wanted it, too.

But that didn’t prevent the fear from settling in.

I don’t know how to explain it to him now, either. I know Peeta understands how scared I am that one day it’ll be taken from me, that I won’t be able to protect this child just as I was not able to protect Prim. Or Rue. He feels that same fear himself. He’s told me as much, and besides, it’s evident in his behavior.

But this is different. This goes beyond the fears instilled in me from all the horrible things we experienced. This fear feels as old as life itself. I wonder if every mother in history has felt this same fear; somehow, I know they have. It’s one I’m not sure I can ever fully explain to my husband.

“It’ll be okay,” Peeta says as he holds me close to him, planting a kiss on my temple. “We have each other. And the book. We can make him or her understand in a way that’ll make them braver.” I say nothing, still unconvinced, still certain that I will somehow fail this child. So Peeta continues.

“You’re going to make a great mother, you know. I still believe that.” I can’t help smiling, though the memory this brings back is anything but pleasant. Or really, the circumstances under which it unfolded were. Can I really think poorly of those kisses on the beach, the first time I ever knew for certain that I loved him?

As the years crept along, I found it harder and harder to deny that the reasons I held for not having children had become invalid. There were no more Games, no more Capitol; at least, not a Capitol like there had been before the war. The city itself is still there, still running the nation, but in place of the awful regime we suffered under for so long has come something called a republic. It seems to be working, for now. But I’d be lying if I said Plutarch’s words from that flight back to 12 aboard the hovercraft didn’t still haunt me.

I feel Peeta take my hand in his; give it a reassuring squeeze. I finally look over to him, and see that he’s smiling at me. “Is it still moving?” he asks quietly.

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head.

Peeta looks down at my growing belly with such sincere longing. He wants to feel the baby move, too. Peeta has waited all his life for this moment, I realize. I make a mental note to be sure he feels it the next time I feel the baby stir.

“Peeta,” I say, and he looks up at me expectantly. I swallow, feeling nervous for some reason. It’s hard to get these words out. No matter how true they may be, no matter how real it is, I don’t think this fear will ever really go away.

“I’m happy we’re doing this.”

Peeta smiles a grin so huge, it looks almost painful. He leans in and kisses me deeply. Even now, I still feel something stir inside me when he does this.

“I know one way we could get the baby to move again,” he says with a smirk.

It doesn’t take much to talk me into it. Lately, I haven’t been able to get enough of him. Peeta is moving over me instantly, dropping kisses up and down my neck and face, running his hands down my body. His hand stops to rest on my belly.

“Maybe we should stop,” he says with a smile. “The last thing I ever wanted to think about growing up was my parents having sex.”

I can’t help laughing. “She’s just going to have to learn to handle it,” I say, returning his smile.

“She?” Peeta raises an eyebrow. I shrug.

“Call it a hunch.”

Peeta kisses me. “Okay. I trust your instincts,” he tells me softly. Then, the mischievous look in his eye returned, adds, “and if your instincts are telling you we should have sex, then by all means, let’s do it.”

I laugh, and let my instincts take over.

 

  
I moan as Peeta’s hot breath meets my hardened nipple. The way it feels when he takes it in his mouth still feels better than anything, even after all these years. I feel him, hard, against me in his boxers. I lift my hips up to grind against him, teasing. Peeta grins against my mouth, and swears under his breath.

“We don’t do this enough,” he tells me.

“I know,” I agree. It’s harder now, with two children constantly needing our attention. But the girl has started school, and the boy sleeps through most nights, and Peeta and I have finally found time for each other again.

“I’m going to make you come so hard tonight,” he promises as he dips his fingers down into my folds. I’m holding him to that promise; somehow, I doubt he’ll let me down.

And that’s when I hear the faintest creak of a door opening. “Mama?” a small voice rings out into the darkened room.

Peeta lets out another swear, louder this time, and I hit him lightly to remind him to watch his language. He rolls off of me and sits up, facing the direction of the door.

“Ri?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“I had a bad dream,” he whimpers. I’m grabbing around frantically in the dark, trying to find something, anything to put on. At last I find a shirt, though I have no idea if it’s Peeta’s or mine, and pull it on. Just in time, too, because by now our son has padded over to the bed and begun to climb on.

He crawls over to where we are, and immediately I hold my arms out to take him in them. He curls up against me and sniffs. He’s slightly damp from sweat; I begin smoothing back his blond curls in much the same way his father once did for me. Like I once did for him.

I hold him to me, at once bitterly regretting that my son is already experiencing the nightmares I so badly wanted to keep away from him and his sister, all the while realizing that children having bad dreams is a normal part of growing up. “What did you dream about?” I ask gently.

“There was a monster in my closet,” he sniffs. “He was big, and scary and wanted to eat me. He’s there, now.”

I chuckle quietly. “There isn’t a monster in your closet, baby.”

“Yes there is,” he insists. “He’s going to eat me!”

“Tell you what,” I say, “why don’t we have Daddy go and check for you? If a monster is there, Daddy will scare him off. Daddy’s are good at that.”

“Will you, Daddy?” he asks as he turns his widened grey eyes on Peeta.

“Of course,” Peeta smiles. If imaginary monsters in closets are the only thing Daddy has to worry about, he’ll do it in a heartbeat. He kicks off the blankets, not having to worry about strapping on his prosthetic since he leaves it on for sex. It’s easier that way.

As Peeta disappears down the hallway, I hold our son closer to me, and begin to rock him in my arms; I realize I’m humming. As Ri’s head begins to sink further down my arm as sleep overcomes him, I allow the words to come.

It’s not the first time I’ve sung this song. I was very reluctant at first, when our daughter was first born, because the memories of singing it to Rue before she died were still so painful. But eventually it came anyways. It was the only song that could coax her into sleep some nights, and now it’s the same for our son. But I will always feel a pang of unrelenting sorrow no matter how often I sing it.

Peeta returns, quietly slipping into the bed beside us. “No monsters,” he says.

“He’s asleep,” I tell him. “Will you carry him back to bed?”

“Sure,” he agrees. But when I start to pass our son over, he begins to stir, then insist loudly that he wants to sleep with us tonight. I look at Peeta, who only shrugs. Our tryst will have to wait for another night.

We settle back down into the sheets, our baby boy nestled between us. Peeta pulls the covers up, and I tuck them in around us, making sure our boy is safe and covered before I wrap my arms around him. As much as I wish I could have continued making love to Peeta, I won’t deny there’s a certain sense of calm I feel when I can hold my children in the night, protecting them from whatever real monsters are lurking out there for them in the world.

I feel Peeta’s arms encompass me, and he pulls both of us closer to him. He feels the same. The only way I could have ever done this was with him. We’re a team, even now, when the arenas are all destroyed and there are no more Hunger Games. If it hadn’t been for Peeta, and his way with words, it might not ever have happened at all.

Peeta whispers that he loves us both. In response, I lean in to kiss him, then hold onto him tight. But I no longer dread the moment when I will have to let go.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my betas for their help on this!


End file.
